Hunted
by jones2000
Summary: AU. Sequel to ‘Cursed’ & ‘Ghosts’. Sam has been given an impossible mission to raise an army before the demon Lilith attacks. But with the hunters' reluctance to work together, does his small band of followers stand a chance?
1. Moriarty

"The little weasel ratted on us! I'm gonna kill him!"

"He's just a kid."

"I'm still gonna kill him."

"Never said you shouldn't. Through here."

"There they go! Hey, you punks, get back here!"

The pair of them pressed into the crowd, heads down. In time, the shouts became fainter and fainter, and they continued down along the same street, hoping no one would recognise them.

"Ladies and gentlemen, come up, don't be shy, and bear witness to the amazing, marvellous, miraculous feats of Conrad the Magician!"

She nudged his arm and pointed. He nodded, and the pair of them went over to look. They would stand out more than ever if they didn't stop to look at some of the entertainers.

The man who had spoken was tall and dark haired. He was in a tuxedo with a red swishy velvet cloak swirling around his ankles. His assistant was sitting off to one side, passing the time before she was needed to assist by reading people's futures.

"You will meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger."

"Please. These people give the real psychics a bad name." He mumbled under his breath.

She grinned. "'_You will go on a cruise and meet the love of your life. He'll have bad breath and a wig and you'll get stuck in the same monotonous cycle until one day you shoot him and inherit everything in his Will.' _For all we know, some of these guys are genuine. But no one _really _wants to know what's in their future, in case they don't like it."

He grunted, his distaste etched on his face.

"Do you think you can do better, then?"

He narrowed his eyes, picking out one particular girl that appealed to him at the time. "See that little blonde over there? Her cat's going to die in two weeks. And so is her grandmother. She trips over the cat."

His friend looked at him with some amusement. "You're making that up."

"No way. See that middle aged guy with the glasses? His girlfriend's cheating on him with another woman. That tall man over there? He's paying child support to his ex-wife for five children when only one is actually his. And that girl in the gutter popping pills has just inherited her great-grandfather's estate worth 5 million."

"God, you should go into business."

He gave a sly smile. "Now that would be easy."

"Do another one." She urged. The previous sense of danger had passed, leaving them both feeling a little high.

This time he looked up at the street performer, this Conrad the Magician. "Okay."

But as soon as he reached forward to suss out Conrad's aura, the magician's head snapped up and the man stared right at him. He smiled as he pulled a rabbit out of a ridiculous purple top hat, and as people cheered, he mouthed something.

_Don't make me hurt you. _

"I think we should go."

"Why? If you look closely you can just about make out the strings. This guy's such a crank."

"I mean it. Now." He took her arm and pulled her away.

"Evening, Winchester."

Cornered. "Michael. Good to see you again." He almost pulled off the flippant tone he was aiming for, but not quite. They were blocking the way out, these three men with their bulging muscles and towering physique.

The one called Michael placed one hand on each of their shoulders.

"Get off me."

"Now, Miss Harvelle, we wouldn't want to make a scene, would we? Especially in the middle of all these innocent people."

"You piece of shit."

"Wow. She's got a real gutter trash vocabulary, this one. How do you put up with her, Winchester?"

"What do you want?"

"Us? We're just following orders. The boss wants to speak with you in person. And he's rather you were still in one piece. Though as long as you're alive, that's not a real requirement." He leered at them and the two began to walk. Any other time, Jo and Sam would have turned around to take them, but they were in the middle of a crowded street and there was no telling how many others there were, waiting.

They turned off the main street, away from the Psychic's Fair. "Open the door." Michael instructed one of his men.

Sam and Jo were flung into the building and the door slammed behind them. A bare light bulb snapped on, illuminating the people in the room, four of which had various weapons aimed at them.

"Sam Winchester and Jo Harvelle. I was wondering when you'd come my way."

The one who spoke was an older man with scruffy, greying hair and beard. He wasn't armed as far as they would see, and was casually wiping a glass as he spoke. Placing the tumbler gently down, he came out from behind the bar.

His right leg gave a metallic chink each time it made contact with the wooden floor.

"I'm Danny Moriarty. Welcome to my pub."

* * *

"You killed one of my hunters." Moriarty put the charges to them in a flat, ugly voice. It was obvious he was the top dog hereabouts, and his crew operated like the well-oiled machine they were. You took one of them down and they'd come after you with their knives and crossbows and guns.

"What? No!"

"He was dead when we found him."

"If that was true, why did you run? Surely that's not the act of innocent people."

Neither of them had an answer to that.

Sam had never dealt with hunters this crass, this violent before. And they were so _organised, _which made them even more formidable. They wore their scars like a badge of honour. The man to Moriarty's left was missing a hand and part of his nose, and the woman to his right was minus an eye.

"Why were you there?" Moriarty asked.

Sam sighed. "Jacob Harmon had called one of my friends and said he had information for me about a… about something. My friend arranged a meeting with him, which was for tonight. But when me and Jo got there, someone had already killed him."

"'Someone' had disarmed him and plunged his own silver dagger into his heart." Moriarty said. "I _saw _what had been done. It had been executed perfectly. I knew Jacob Harmon for thirty-five years. Only another hunter would have even had a hope to _disarm _him, let alone kill him. We are not simple, Winchester."

"We didn't kill him!"

"Can anyone here possibly vouch this story of yours, then?"

"Yes!" Jo almost shouted. "Louie Penfold!"

The woman with one eye gave a snort.

Moriarty frowned. "Perhaps Louie would have given you an alibi. He was prone to doing unusual things. However, he was found in the alley half an hour ago. His throat had been slit from ear to ear."

"But that's impossible. He showed us how to find Harmon. _Less _than half an hour ago."

Moriarty smiled whimsically. "_There are more things on Heaven and Earth…_ The thing is, since the pair of you turned up in my town, strange things have been happening. Poltergeists. Zombies. Vampires. Werewolves. And now my people are ending up dead. And I'll tell you one thing. _Not on my watch."_

Sam understood Moriarty's frustration. How could he hope to protect the civilians under his care when his own people were dying in the streets?

Moriarty stepped forward. Standing nose to nose, he was only _just _shorter than Sam was. "I need to know what's happening." He growled. "They're _my _people out there, dying, because of the menagerie of beasties you brought with you from whatever hole you crawled out of."

Sam opened his mouth to defend himself. Moriarty raised a finger. "Stop. How lies have built you up into a thing of legends, boy. _The crazy hunter. The last Winchester. The Psychic. _All that crap. But no matter how many crazy adventures you go on, how many cute girls you sleep with, how many beasties you skewer, you're still _just a kid. _A kid that palms the blame onto someone else when he finally gets caught. Now, TELL ME THE TRUTH!"

"I-" He swallowed. His throat felt like sandpaper as he stared into the older man's bloodshot blue eyes.

"Yes?" Moriarty hissed.

His mobile rang. Sam glanced down at his pocket and back up to Moriarty. Moriarty stepped back and raised his hands in mock-defeat. Sam flipped out his phone.

Incoming call from: _Deacon. _

"Yeah?"

_'He's awake and he's not happy.' _

There was only one person Deacon could have been referring to. "Alright. Get Gabriel on it. Call again if you have problems."

_'You're supposed to be back already. Hit a snag?' _

"Could say that." Sam said. He could feel a trickle of sweat slide down the side of his nose as all the hard-bitten hunters stared at him beadily.

_'Oh, and some older woman has been calling up about you. Says she's been hearing about us and wants to know what's going on.'_

"What's her name?"

_'Devlin. Grace Devlin.'_

Sam hung up and glanced at Jo. The normally tough blonde was looking a little intimidated as the three burly women in the roomful of men glared at her like she was a traitor to her sex for hunting with a man.

"You want to know the truth? Fine. We need to raise an army for the coming of a demon called Lilith, who wants to bring about the end of the world."

The worry lines around Moriarty's eyes smoothed as he looked incredulous. Then he laughed, causing others in the room to chuckle or snort. "Isn't it always?" He crowed. "Isn't it _bloody always._ Sammy boy, you're gonna have to do better than that."

The door swung open and closed behind them. Neither Sam nor Jo turned to inspect the newcomer. "It's true." Sam said softly, hardy audible over the mirth. "It's true."

"Back to the matter at hand." Jo growled out. "Are you going to kill us or not?"

The hilarity dropped away in a second. "You have no one to support your innocence." Moriarty said gravely. "And so-"

"I vouch for them." There were two men sitting in a shadowed corner. As the one who had spoke gave a wide, sparkling grin, Sam recognised him.

It was Conrad the Magician.

"Harmon's place is across the street from my stall. I saw 'em go in and come out in about five minutes, moving like the Hound of the Baskervilles was after 'em. No time to kill a hunter like Jacob."

"I'll vouch for them too." Said the second man. "I knew them both as kids and they're good people who would have never killed anyone in cold blood." He stood up, his grizzled face in the light.

Sam and Jo stared.

"Bobby!"


	2. Bobby

He was slightly stooped and greyer than ever, but there was no mistaking demon-hunting aficionado Bobby Singer. He didn't smile at them, but gave a sharp nod of his head in acknowledgement before turning back to Danny Moriarty.

"So. That's two willing to back them up. Are you going to let them go or go against your own system and have them executed because you can't find anyone else to blame?"

Moriarty scowled. "The fact that you know them is highly suspicious." He said. "And it's well-known that you also coincidently happen to be a good friend of Conrad's mother. A _very _good friend, if my information is correct. And it always is."

A muscle in Bobby's cheek twitched but his expression didn't change. "You're saying that you're not going to keep to your own hunting code, then?"

The room seemed to hold its breath, watching this confrontation between the older, rival hunters. "You dishonour me." Moriarty spat. "You senile old fool. You think to challenge me on my own ground? Come to duel me finally?"

"No one said anything about challenges or duels." Bobby said flatly. "But if you are reconsidering the rules that you make your crew adhere to so severely, maybe they should reconsider where their loyalties lie."

Sam watched Moriarty fume into silence. "Go." He said, waving a hand at him and Jo. "And take that rotten piece of jerky with you."

"Now." Bobby said. "Before he changes his mind."

The door closed behind them.

"Danny Moriarty. I knew him when he was a kid. Brilliant, but absolutely stark-raving mad. And ruthless too, which is bad. He changes his mind more often than you change your underwear."

Bobby steered them toward the bright lights and laughter of the Psychic Fair.

"Bobby," Jo asked. "Back in there, you asked if Moriarty was going to go against his own hunting code. I've never heard of one before."

"You hardly hear about it any more." Bobby said. "Way back when, when demons were first hunted below, each pocket of hunters had their own code. Stuff like don't shoot someone retreating, don't kill anyone in cold blood, don't kill another hunter."

"Code of ethics." Sam said.

"Rules, Sam. Most of these pockets broke away and began hunting on their own because they didn't like the rules. But there are still some who like following a code, having someone to tell them what to do. Then they can have someone to blame when they screw up."

Jo could see the banner proclaiming 'Conrad the Magician' over the heads of the crowd. "Why are we back here?" She asked with some surprise.

"I thought you might want to meet the other person who just helped save your skins."

"Ladies and Gentlemen, watch The Magician turn water into wine! Free tasting for the sceptics."

"But that's the kid from the bar! How did he get out here so quickly? We would have seen him!" She exclaimed.

"He's very fast." Bobby offered by way of explanation.

Sam stared at the man. He hadn't been wearing his red cloak in the bar, and he still wasn't wearing it. For all accounts, it looked like the same person.

"But that's impossible. He must have a twin or something."

"That there is the original and only article. No, he wasn't in two places at once. That's impossible even for one of his kind."

"His kind?"

"Conrad!"

"Robert!" The magician waved them over, and offered his hand to Sam. For the entire world he looked like a slightly bumbling young man, but there was something about the way he gripped Sam's hand and smiled showing too many teeth that said he wasn't as harmless as he looked.

"My assistant, Verona." He introduced the dark-haired woman in her gypsy outfit. She nodded and smiled as her eyes flickered over them. "Sam.," she cocked her head to the side. "And Jo."

Sam stared at her suspiciously. Conrad was somehow a hunter hanger-on, so what was she? "How did you know that?"

"Bobby told us to keep an eye out for you." Verona said. "A tall blonde and a man who looked like his head was somewhere else."

"_Excuse _me?" Sam asked Bobby archly as Jo hid a grin behind her hand. The older man shrugged.

"You are what you are." He said. "Now, Sam, I need you to do something for me-"

"No."

"What?"

"No. I have to get back to Minnesota."

"Is it that urgent?" Bobby asked impatiently. _Winchesters. _

"Um… What did you want him to do?" Jo asked in the silence. Conrad and Verona had turned off to entertain some more of the populace. "'Cause, you know, I'm here too. And I'm as good as he is."

"With parents like Bill and Ellen, I'd expect that." He said flatly. "Why don't the pair of you let me finish first? Sam, I need you to stay away from Danny Moriarty."

"Thanks for the warning." Sam said dryly.

Bobby frowned. "I mean it." He said. "The man's been erratic for years, but something's made his destructive streak really come out. People are dying left, right, and centre, on his orders. _Stay out of his way._"

_Kiss goodbye getting any help from Moriarty. _"How can he kill his own people?"

"Folk thinking he's getting too old and crusty, young hunters trying to blaze their own trail, saying something he doesn't like, visiting hunters with new ideas… You name it."

_Sounds like he's been got at._ "Was he right? All these… things have come out?"

Bobby lowered his voice. "Not just demons, either. Every creature you ever imagined that existed out in the dark as a kid…"

"Let's talk in the Impala." Jo suggested.

The doors slammed and all outside noises were cut off. "Have you seen many?"

"Boy, why do you think I'm here? There's no reason I would ever come back here, especially since a price was put on my head a few years back. Moriarty's hunters, they're good for information, but they're the meanest, nastiest sons of bitches around. Now. Were you being for real about this demon?"

"Yes." Sam hissed. "Why would I be joking?"

"Tell me your plan."

"Honestly, I'm sort of making it up as I go along." Sam said, reaching forward. From the glove compartment he withdrew a small bottle of water and unscrewed the lid. "You should know one thing." He said, rising a little in his seat. "The real Bobby? He wouldn't have asked about a plan. He would have told us what to do."

He flung the Holy water into the back seat where it made contact with flesh and began to burn. The creature in Bobby yelped out, making a move for the door.

Jo thrust a leather-bound book into Sam's hands. After all this time, John Winchester's journal was one of his constant companions. She grinned. "Sayonara, bitch."

* * *

Bobby sat holding his head.

"You haven't lost your touch." He commented.

"It couldn't have been you." Sam said. "You were being too nice."

"Thanks." Bobby said dryly.

"No, really. Normally you would have told that Moriarty where he could stick it."

"Is that really what you think I'm like?"

"What happened?" Jo asked.

"Vegas." Bobby mumbled. "Ellen had been hearing about all these murders and asked me to investigate. The last guy died during a bank robbery, so I went to check out the corpse."

Sam and Jo exchanged glances. It was beginning to sound eerily familiar.

"And just as I got there, something touched me. I couldn't see. And then I wasn't in control anymore." He made the whole possession process sound relatively easy and straightforward. "And then you kids brought me back. I have to say, I thought you might have missed it. Even when it isn't you, it walks and talks like you."

"Hey, didn't something happen to you in the morgue?" Jo asked Sam. "You jumped like someone had jabbed you with a cattle prod."

"You went to the morgue too?" Bobby asked sharply.

"We were there. Las Vegas. We must have missed each other by a couple of inches."

Bobby still looked worried.

"What?"

"Then it's more than possible that I wasn't the target." He mused. "I thought I might have been since I'm a hunter, and all those hunters have been disappearing, but if you were there too, it might have been a mistake to get me…"

_When it was after you. _

"It's never going to be over, is it?" Jo asked. "You get rid of one…"

_And another even worse takes over. _

_

* * *

_

Lilith sat on a park bench and observed the human parasite at work. People, so caught up in their tiny lives that they didn't care to turn their heads to the bigger picture. Not realising that what they strove to build today would come crashing down tomorrow.

She was in an introspective mood as she thought of the many advances she had made in a short time.

Her husband had been ambitious but foolish. He had an army the likes hadn't been seen since the War, yet he had sought to mould a leader from a mortal that had been imbued with power. And he had failed miserably when the boy had rebuked him.

She spat on his ashes. The only thing he was ever good for was helping her to reach higher in the Hierarchy, getting her closer to the Princes of Hell. In every way she had surpassed him, wit and cunning and skill. And now once more. She would become the Emperor that he never became. She would bring a new age to the earth, and her soldiers would strike fear into the hearts of man and demon alike.

_Lilith, Queen of Hell. _

"I quite like the sound of that." She muttered. Standing, she shook out her hair. It had a bluish tinge to it today. She had been in this form for centuries, and although it was human, it was by far her favourite. Part of her daily routine was to rearrange her features according to the mood she was in. Sometimes she was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen, and others she was the hag that terrified small children.

She didn't really like going about all fiery-eyed and sorcerous. It tended to take the mystery out.

"Mother!"

Lilith looked up. A woman with long brown hair was smiling at her from down the path. She was standing by a tall man with fierce green eyes.

"Daughter." Lilith stood. "How was your trip?"

"Terrible. Five hunters tried to stop me on my way here." She gave a tinkling laugh. "I wanted them all for myself but Cerberus turned the last one inside out."

"He had the Book and the Cross." Cerberus growled at his little sister. "He would have sent you _once again _back to Hell. And don't think I would be wasting my time once more to help you climb out."

"If Mother told you to, you would."

"And if Mother tells you to stop seeking out trouble, you will." Lilith said gravely. "I would have though the lessons over the years would have taught you to tame your reckless streak. You're like your father."

"I am not!" She squeaked. "He was weak and cowardly and foolish-"

"And reckless." Cerberus said in his deep, rumbling voice.

"And killed by a human." Lilith said. "I have lost many children to these descendants of Slayers. No more."

"Yes, ma'am." She bowed her head. This one had to be watched. She had been the most loyal to her consort before he perished, and had personal axes to grind against one particular family. The one that Lilith was betting most on.

"Have you heard of Dean lately?" The girl asked too-casually.

"He is where he is supposed to be." Lilith said firmly. None of the demons she knew referred to hunters or Damned by name, so she knew the insult the Winchesters dealt her cut deep. "And you will not interfere. With him or the brother."

"But if I could just-"

"No."

"Couldn't I-"

"No." Lilith said one more. "Come, my children. It is time to gather the Clan."


	3. This is War

Brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins. They all came to the call, flapping and tearing and screaming. They fought and they shrieked and their forms shimmered in and out of this dimension.

The Clan had come together once more. Lilith stared out at the howling menagerie that were her blood kin.

"Clan." She said, and silence fell after a while. She glared coldly out at the myriad of twisted forms that made hers seemed one-dimensional and flat in comparison. "Finally we meet face to face, at the greatest gathering of the Clan since the War. You know who I am?"

"Lilith!" Someone roared from the back.

"Lilith!" Came an echoing cry.

"Lilith!"

She raised a hand. "Yes, yes. Your support is much appreciated."

"Why do you summon us, female?" A burly creature with birdlike talons demanded.

"I have come to a conclusion." Lilith said. "I have come to the conclusion that we have hid in the darkness for too long."

"Who's hiding in the darkness?" Someone spat, outraged.

"Too long we have hid, not fighting back against those that persecute us. Too long have we killed each other instead of challenging those who threaten and slaughter us in cold blood."

She could hear the rusting of wings and the whisper. Always the whisper. _Like her husband. _And that enraged her even more.

"We swore revenge on the first ones, the ones that called themselves the Slayers, didn't we? Yet we never did. _Why not?_ And so we crept back to our holes and our hovels and our castles, telling each other that the time had not yet come. And when it did we would _decimate _them."

"Are you calling us cowards?"

"You have some nerve!"

"What do you want?"

"My Clan." Lilith smiled. "_Now _is the time. _This _is the day. No longer do we cower, waiting for the advantage to be with us. We _are _the advantage. We _are _the more powerful, the more cunning. And those that call themselves Hunters _will _know Death's sting!"

Someone began to chant. As others joined it rose in crescendo until it was a deafening roar that threatened to collapse the cavern with its force.

_Lilith. Lilith. Lilith. _

"This is war."

* * *

Douglas Stephens was passing through the New York cemetery when something curious caught his eye. He fingered the barrel of his revolver under his jacket and cautiously approached the tomb.

It was black marble, tall and imposing. His lips moved as he read the engraving carved above the keystone.

_Death is only the beginning. _

Douglas wasn't normally a man that was easily spooked, but something about tonight especially had him on edge. He had once spent three months being stalked by a Wendigo, and the feeling was the same. That there was something out there only inches away, preparing to pounce.

_Maybe it's time to retire. _

There was a sound behind him, and he spun around, shining the torch around himself. Nothing could be seen. But there it was again, growing louder and closer, like someone was dragging a wet sack over gravel.

Douglas pulled out his revolver and aimed, at what he didn't know. Shining his torch at the ground, he saw a small, shuddering shadow. As he bent over it, it meowed pathetically.

"Poor Puss." He bent over to pat the cat and it purred at him. "What the hell-?" His hand was greasy as it came away. "What have you been in, cat?" He sniffed experimentally at his fingers.

_Sulphur. _

_Yep. Definitely time to retire. _He backed away as the creature began to unfurl itself, becoming bigger and more ferocious-looking. It snapped its jaws at him as Douglas drew his gun.

The Hellcat reared, throwing him to his back. Douglas rolled out of the way as curved claws came slashing for his head. "_Bad kitty!"_ He spat through gritted teeth, and as it came in for another shot, he took aim and fired.

The Hellcat jerked to a stop and yowled. Shaking its head, it rose for another attack, anger in its eyes.

_Great. That only pissed it off. _

There was a crunch as the Hellcat's paw connected with Douglas's firing arm. Douglas gave a roar of pain and fury as he felt his arm break. "Alright, you are _so _not going to get that bowl of milk now!"

And then someone laughed, high and hysterical and mesmerising. As Douglas watched, the Hellcat backed off before obediently sitting on the ground beside the tomb. Douglas spun.

There was a woman with long brown hair standing behind him. Her eyes were black. Douglas withdrew a silver knife from his jacket as the woman smiled.

_Do you fear death, hunter? _

He flung the knife. It embedded itself in the flesh just above her heart. She peered down at it curiously. "I guess that's a no."

Faster than Douglas expected, she yanked out the knife and slit his throat.

* * *

Marianne Phillips and Sandy Thomas had been talking in the car about their next case in Arizona, when Sandy commented about the person behind them shining his high beams into the cab.

"God, I hate that."

Marianne glanced at him. "You hate everything, big brother." She reclined back in her seat. "Could we just for once _not _talk about the next hunt? I just want to get back to Nick and my Toby in one piece."

He glanced at her; her heart shaped face framed by black ringlets. "You know it's going to be fine. Nick would never let anything happen to Toby."

"I know." She sighed. "But I want to be there, you know? I want to see Toby grow up."

"What do you think dying is like?" Sandy asked seriously.

"_So _not funny."

Then the truck behind them rammed their bumper. "What the hell does he think he's doing?" Sandy hissed. "Goddamn creep."

Marianne craned up in her seat. Squinting into the light, she peered up at the driver tailgating them. He was an old man, almost skeletal, with wisps of white hair still stuck to his scalp. A stray light lit up his face and she gasped.

"Step on it." She ordered.

"What?"

"Do what I say or you'll be finding out what it's like to be dead a whole lot sooner." Marianne snapped. "Now _step on it._"

Awkwardly she stamped her foot over his on the accelerator. Sandy fought to retain control of his vehicle, and did a masterful job of it. "Are you mad?"

_Are you? _

This time he did listen to his sister. "Hold on." And he spun the car.

And it would have worked to if it weren't for the giant black dog standing in the middle of the road.

The car slammed into a power pole.

Marianne blinked into wakefulness, dazed by the smoke and the blood and the ringing in her ears. "Sandy?"

He was still in his seat, his face turned toward her. There was a deep, bloody gash in the side of his head, which Marianne knew was very likely life threatening. That he was very likely already dead. "Sandy, no!" She released the catch on her seatbelt. "Look at me! Please. Plea…" Her words trailed off into the dust.

There was a man looking at her, a man with bright blue eyes. But as she watched, they clouded over into blackness. He smiled at her.

"You son of a bitch!" Marianne screamed, still holding onto her brother's collar. "You fucking psycho freak!"

The grin widened.

_Do you fear death, hunter? _

She took one last look at her brother's face, peaceful at long last.

She thought of her son and of her husband. She thought of her father that had been killed three years earlier. She thought of her brother, the two of them in happier times.

And surrounded by all these people who had loved her, Marianne drew her shotgun and fired her last round.

The gas ignited, sending sparks up into the early morning sky.

* * *

Spencer Jones had always been very particular about his houseguests, so it came as a great surprise when he invited a little-known work colleague home for dinner.

His only son was sitting in the lounge room. Though he had officially moved out several years ago, a lot of his books were still here, and he had popped in to pick up the last of them. Dad didn't know he was there yet; he was going to slip out the back door quietly when the old man wasn't looking. Old Spencer Jones didn't approve of his son's extracurricular activities.

So he got about packing his books.

Behind the closed door, his father shouted something obscene and there was the shattering of glass. And then silence. He jumped up, dropping his books. As he reached forward to touch the doorknob, he stepped back. The knob was cherry red, threatening to burn his hand away. He braced himself against the door.

"Dad!"

The creature was waiting for him as he stumbled into the room. He ignored it, his eyes for his dad. Spencer was lying on the kitchen floor, his head at an awkward angle. Righteous fury built up inside him, and in that moment he could have taken on anyone on or under the ground.

"So to prove you could do it, you killed a harmless old man." He whispered furiously.

_Isn't that why we do things? To prove we can? _

"Go to hell."

_Do you fear death, hunter? _

"Do you?" Conrad the Magician snarled. Spinning sharply on his heel, he swished his red cloak. "And for my next trick-"

The demon howled in frustration as the human disappeared. Simply vanished.


	4. On the Last Episode of Supernatural

The hunt. She could hear their cries of victory as they conquered. And she was pleased for them. Long years stuck in the dark, or tied to the one-dimensional forms of humans or animals, but now they were free.

They were free.

Lilith's band of demons ran in packs across the land. Once this place had been sterilised, they would move on to the next, cleansing the earth of the disease that had infested it for so long. They would all die.

She watched as her children were let loose, targeting particular hunters, or the children of particular hunters, or the great descendants of particular hunters. Every man and woman who had ever enraged, provoked, or captured a member of her clan had their life snuffed out, like a flame in the wind.

None fought back. All were unprepared. No great leader had come to unite them.

Grinning, she couldn't help but think, _why didn't you do this from the beginning, dear husband? _

"This will be unlike anything seen since the War." She said.

"They are dying."

"They are already dead." Lilith said curtly. "Had they wanted to live, they would not have challenged us."

He gave a sharp nod of his head. "It is logical." He looked back up at her. His once laughter-vibrant green eyes had dulled to a murky swamp-colour. "What must I do?"

"You know what." She replied.

"Mother." He bowed his head. When he looked up once more, she was gone, leaving only the rustle of wind against the stainless-steel walls.

Dean narrowed his eyes, staring at the door.

"It's logical." He murmured to himself. Then he smiled.

* * *

Gabriel paced from side to side in front of the massive door.

Deacon snatched a tennis ball out of the air before throwing it up again. "You're wearing a hole in the floor."

"They should be here by now." Gabriel said sharply. "Aren't you wondering where they are?"

"They're both consenting adults." Carmen said from her perch upon a steel bench. "They'll turn up when they're good and ready."

"Why don't you call again?"

Deacon rolled his eyes. "BECAUSE. He said he ran into trouble. Moriarty, I guess."

"He _is_ a bit…" Carmen rotated a finger around her ear.

"You work for him."

"Freelance."

Gabriel frowned. "There's something going on with him in there," He jabbed his thumb toward the door. "A week we've been here, and we've opened that door several times now. And each time he hasn't tried to escape. Something's up, and if Winchester was here, he might give us an idea of what's going on inside that creepy little man's head."

"Oh my god. It's happening."

"What?" He asked impatiently.

"You're doing it. You're starting to accept Sam as a leader. _Our _leader."

"Uh, no." He frowned at Carmen. "I _appreciate _his unique talents. That doesn't mean I'm going to start 'yes sir no sir'ing him at any moment. And he's _not _our leader."

"He's the closest thing to it. Else, why would you be sitting around watching a fridge?"

Gabriel glared at her furiously as Carmen smiled triumphantly. Deacon rolled his eyes. "Opposites attra-"

"_Don't _say it._ Don't_ even think it."

"Am I that repulsive?"

"I never said-" Deacon and Carmen did their best to keep straight faces, but burst out laughing. "Real mature."

"Hey, someone's having a party and didn't invite me." Someone tall and blonde and slight slipped through the tradesman entrance. "Did you miss me?"

"Hey, JB." Deacon threw his ball at her. Jo caught it and tossed it back.

"Hi."

"How did it go?"

She pulled a face and made a seesawing motion with her hand before going to the chain that operated the roller doors and heaving on it.

"That good?" The four of them watched as the sleek black car pulled onto the factory floor. Deacon noticed that there was a scratch up the left-hand side and a dent in the bonnet, as if someone had jumped on it.

Sam emerged from the driver's side, blinking into the light. His back cracked as he stretched out his long, lanky frame. Gabriel might not have liked it, but this guy had 'leader' stamped across him, Deacon reckoned. He just had this vibe. The kind of vibe that would beat the snot out of you if you didn't do what you were told.

The second man to emerge was much older than any of them, but there were laughter lines as well as scars on his grizzled old face.

"Hello." He said in a mild, vaguely interested tone as his eyes swiftly evaluated them.

"Uh, hi." Deacon said, the other two echoing his awkward greeting. He _did _try not to stare, but there were only a handful of old hunters that were still alive and _not_ completely off their rocker.

"Bobby Singer." The man, this Bobby, held out his hand to Gabriel, who cautiously took it. His hold was firm and warm. He shook each of their hands, beginning to assemble files in his head on each of them judging by the grip of their handshake.

"Bobby's an old friend of ours." Sam elaborated further. "Bobby, this is Gabriel Forsyth. We picked him up in Las Vegas."

"Can he be trusted? He looks a little too shifty to me."

"_I am still here, you know." _Gabriel mumbled under his breath.

"He tried to shoot me." Jo piped up helpfully.

"Hrmph." Bobby moved on to Carmen.

"Carmen Lorenzo. She's Minnesota born and bred. She's a sort-of informant for Moriarty."

"Well. It's always good to have an ally in the enemy camp. As long as her poise doesn't undo you. And you know what I mean." He said to Sam, who rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"_Isn't he a charmer?" _She whispered sarcastically.

"And this is Deacon Ridgeway. He was my partner before Sam showed up on the scene." Jo introduced. Deacon smiled uncertainly.

"Ridgeway, eh? Knew your parents. They were good people." Gabriel and Carmen frowned at him as Bobby turned away. Deacon grinned.

"So, what's the story?"

Jo rubbed her hands together. "_And on the last episode of Supernatural._" She grinned. "About three months ago now, Sam turned up out of the blue wanting help on the case of the missing hunters. We never really got much investigating on that done, 'cause one of Sam's crazy visions took us to Stanford University, where one of their teachers, Professor Devlin was getting stalked by a family demon."

"Wait. Professor Devlin? Professor _Grace _Devlin? The same Devlin that was over here looking for you?"

"Shut up."

"Anyway, along the way we ran into Dean."

"Dean. As in brother Dean?" Bobby's eyebrows rose. "Wasn't he dead?"

"Not for very long, apparently."

"Yes, I'm getting to that. It's all very dramatic and swishy. So he tried to kill us, right? And after we solved the case and had our five minutes of fame, we headed out to kick our heels up at Vegas."

"Hardly by design." Sam said dryly. "I was shot outside the pawn shop."

"Don't look at me like that. It wasn't _my _fault."

"It was your gun!"

"Kids." Bobby cleared his throat. "Another time."

"Oh, right. A corpse attacked me at the bank when I went to make a withdrawal, and I killed it. Again. And later on we began hearing about all these murders in the area, so we went to see what we could dig up, like you did."

Bobby nodded, arms folded.

"And Sam had another wacko vision in the morgue when we went to look at the body. All messed up with armies of demons and all these dead people walking around…"

"Damned." Sam put in.

"Yeah. And here's the good bit. Later we got a visit from someone that was supposed to be dead. A Trickster." Bobby looked almost surprised. Almost, but not quite. "And he told us that another demon was coming, another one even worse. Apparently she used to be married or something to that Yellow-eyed bastard."

"No shit?"

"And he said that unless we became an army she'd just crash right through us."

There was a long moment of silence where everybody was discreetly looking at Bobby. Finally the old man looked up from his contemplation. "You've made a good start. Six hunters, believing in the same thing. Working in the one crew. That's a pretty big hurrah. You've made a good start."

"Six? So you _are _in?" Sam asked.

"Boy, why would I be anywhere else?"

A phone rang. Each of the young people automatically glanced at theirs. "Mine." Jo said, holding hers aloft. She peered down at the screen and her heart skipped a beat.

_Mom. _

* * *

Ellen sounded older, not just the years but the mileage. She imagined her sitting at the bar with a glass of gin as younger hunters trying to show their clout threw punches at one another.

"Hi, Mom."

"Hello, sweetie."

There was a crack of gunfire and she put her hand over the receiver. "Ed, get the hell off my table or I'll personally show you the next place you can stick that sissy pistol!" There was a yelp of laughter at this Ed's expense and Jo could almost see him slinking off into the corner.

The unspoken rule of the Roadhouse. _Don't cross Ellen. _

The two had not exactly parted ways particularly favourably. There had been a massive row, followed by breaking glass followed by Jo storming out. She had refused to lead a sheltered life while her mother had wanted to put her in a box. Even after all this time she didn't know what she should say.

"I don't know what I should say." She said. _Smooth. _

"That's fine. That's just fine." Ellen sighed, relief in her voice.

"Is there something wrong?"

"Why would there be anything wrong?"

"You're acting all weird." Jo said. "It's beginning to scare me. Tell me what's wrong."

"I had to… to see if you were alright." Ellen said.

"Why?"

"We've just started hearing things. Hunters are dying on the streets all of a sudden. Some look like accidents, but others… One had his throat slit from ear to ear. Another was turned inside out. And a few times it's been civilians instead. Slaughtered."

"Oh, Mom." Jo gasped.

"Honey, I know you fell like this is your calling, but just this once turn your back on the hunt. Come back to me where I'll know you'll be safe."

Jo had only ever heard her mother plead once before this. When she was eight and her father had gone out for the last time. Ellen had tried with all her might to get Bill to stay home, convinced that something terrible was going to happen.

"I'll have to think about it," She whispered, hanging up.

"Jo?"

She held herself up tall and stiff, certain that those two cases weren't close to the worst. Ellen had called to see if her daughter was still alive. "It's started. They're killing people all over."

"No…"

"Well, we tried."

"What can we do now?"

"I _know_!" Jo suddenly shouted. She was surprised that there wasn't a light bulb hanging over her head. "_Mom! _We have to go Los Angeles!"


	5. Ellen's

As soon as Jo's exclamation sunk into Sam's brain, he let out a loud, resounding, mental _duh. _

Ah, well. That's what you got for thinking you were clever.

"What about big brother? We can't just leave him here, can we?" Deacon asked. "Someone has to stay."

"No." Sam said sharply. "We're not splitting up this time. _Especially_ now."

"Then what do we do? We can't take him with us."

Sam cast a look to the huge door, and for a moment a look of pure longing crossed his face. Then the moment passed and he was back to being the self-assured, po-faced hunter they all knew. "Let me talk to him."

"Are you _nuts_?" Gabriel cut in sharply. "What makes you think that he'll listen to you?"

He took a deep breath. "Because he's still my brother. No matter what, he's still Dean, and he's still family." He looked straight at Jo. "Hit the road and don't look back. Find Ellen and _stick together_."

"I'm not leaving you here." She said stubbornly.

"You have to."

"But-"

"Come on, JB. You heard the man." Deacon gently pulled her away. "We can probably do more when we have some real firepower."

Jo looked behind herself, doubt on her face as Deacon led her away. After a moment, Gabriel and Carmen followed. Sam heard the sound of two separate engines warming up and someone unlocking the gate.

Bobby was still standing there, his hands in his pockets, looking at him.

"Don't say it."

"Say what?"

"You think my personal involvement is clouding my judgement." Sam said bitterly.

"I didn't say a thing." Bobby replied. "You're doing what you think is right, and none of us can ask anyone more than that."

"I don't know what else I can do, Bobby."

Bobby reached forward and grasped his shoulder. So many years had passed, but the boy was still a scared little kid inside, looking for reassurance. "Follow your instincts. At the end of the day it's yourself you've got to live with."

The door opened again, and Deacon stuck his ginger head into the room. "Ah, Bobby? Do you want a lift?"

"Give me a minute." He ducked out again.

"But I _don't know_ what I'm _supposed_ to do." Sam said softly.

"None of us do. We just make the best with what we've got. And you've got power. Skill. Friends that value you for being you. And like it or not, when the chips come down, you're going to have to use them all. You'll make the right decision in the end. Your dad did. So did your brother."

"But-"

"Look after yourself, Sam." The old man slipped out the door, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts. He heard a car door being slammed and a car pulling out the driveway. They were gone.

He hoped he had sent them away to a place that they would be safe. At least for a while. They were the only real friends he had for a long time that hadn't turned their backs on him or tried to kill him. Yes, they were wary of him, but he was also wary of them. It could all fall apart so easily.

Sitting on an upturned box, her stared stonily at the massive door in front of him. _To be or not to be… _

And he opened it. "Dean?"

He couldn't see the other man first, but as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he saw his lean frame sitting on the floor at the other side of the room, back against the wall.

"Sam." He acknowledged politely. His eyes betrayed nothing,

"How are you?"

"I'm in a fridge. How would you feel?" Dean asked casually, cocking his head to the side. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Why would I do that?" Sam felt an uncomfortable lump in his throat, and he crouched down on the floor in front of his brother. "Why?" He asked finally. "Why did you do it? I don't get it."

"That's the point. Sammy, who knew so much and never really _got _it."

"Huh?"

"There are things out there, Sam. In the dark. The shadows that lurk behind men's eyes. There are more than you could possibly imagine. Too many to hope to defeat."

"And so that's it? You just gave up?"

"You don't understand."

"No, I don't. I would have gotten you out. _Somehow _I would have gotten you out."

"I know." Dean said quietly. "But I have to do this."

Sam was silent for a long minute. He felt like he was tearing up inside. Then something occurred to him. _They may walk and talk like you, but they aren't you. _But Dean wasn't possessed, was he? He may be less than human, but he still _was _Dean. And his brother would never back down from a fight.

"What are you doing, Dean?"

He looked directly into his face. "Surviving."

And then he brought his knee up into Sam's crotch.

As Sam sank quickly to the floor, tears in his eyes, Dean seized the Colt from under his jacket. "See you later, Sammy." And brought the butt crashing down into the back of Sam's head.

Dean slipped the Colt into the waistband of his jeans and dug around in Sam's pockets for the familiar shape and feel of the Impala's keys. He withdrew them with a small feeling of triumph. "As a favour, little brother, I'll leave the door open for you."

And he strode away confidently to slip into the sleek blackness of the Impala. He knew what had to be done.

* * *

Bobby and Ellen stood together like two survivors from some forgotten war, which, in a way, they were. Apart from her daughter, Ellen was the last Harvelle left, and Bobby's brother had long since disowned the family to blaze a trail in the accounting business.

And so they stood like the proud old soldiers they were, observing the domain that was never really theirs and may never be again.

Suddenly Ellen spotted something out of the corner of her eye, and she put her glass of whisky down. "Angus!" She barked. "You put a hole in my wall, I'll put a hole in you!"

It was surprising how fast she had sunk back into the life, after so many friends had perished when the Roadhouse had burnt to the ground. And the hunters were all too eager to accept her as one of their own, as so few people were willing to put up rooms and drinks for their kind.

It was also almost alarming how easily Jo slotted in among the hunters. The girl Ellen and Bill had tried so hard to protect had carved her own niche in the one profession her parents had wanted to keep her out of. And if the kid Deacon was right, she was slicing a name for herself in a hunt dominated by men. The girl that used to call him 'Uncle Bobby' had grown up.

"D'you think they're telling the truth?" Ellen finally asked.

"What reason would they have to lie?"

She shrugged, looking away. "No one will believe them."

"I know that. They know that." Bobby said. "What do you think?"

Ellen sighed. "I don't know what I should think. Since only yesterday sixteen of our people have been taken down. Three I'd known since they were kids." She crossed her arms. "Just try to tell me that's coincidence. No one's hunting alone anymore; only the hard cases. This thing's got people really spooked."

"I'm not surprised. Top-up?" He held up a bottle.

"What a gentleman."

Just then the door came crashing inwards, and a young man stumbled inside. The rain had plastered his hair to his forehead, but Bobby saw his face as he hauled himself to his feet with help from the back of a chair.

"Conrad."

He lifted his sopping fringe from his eyes. "I've just come from Boston." He said bleakly into the suddenly quiet room. "Danny Moriarty's place has been burnt to the ground."

* * *

Jo imagined that the sort of uproar that followed would have been exactly what happened when news of the destruction of the Roadhouse reached the ears of other hunters. Something had taken down their fellows, and they weren't happy.

"How many?" She tried to shout into the void of battle cries. "_How many are dead?!_"

The dull roar slowly ebbed away as people waited for Conrad Jones to answer. And there was fear on many faces.

"All of them." Conrad said quietly. "All. I couldn't… I wasn't fast enough…"

"There's nothing you could have done, kid." Ellen said gruffly. From behind the counter she withdrew a phone, placing it on the bench top. Almost everyone in the room seemed to stare at her as she dialled.

Finally the call connected. "Luthor, its Ellen." Ellen said crisply. "You've heard-? Yes, just then." A pause. "You _what? _The _whole _Inn?"

Gabriel, Deacon, Carmen, Jo and Bobby stood in a loose semi-circle around Ellen. After a moment, Conrad joined them, slipping in beside Jo and Deacon.

"Yes." Ellen said. "Yes. I'm going to call Megan next. Spread the word if you can. We need to keep our people together in this. And Luthor? Good luck." She banged the receiver down before picking it up and dialling another number.

"Megan, it's Ellen. Yeah, we're all fine. Listen, get your people inside and arm them. Leave the doors open, or you'll end up like Danny and his crew. Get your kids to warn any lone wolf that might be out and about. _Yes, it's that serious._"

Silence. "Luthor's inn is surrounded." She said softly. "They might go for him at any moment. Which means they're also coming _for us. _Yes. Good girl." She dropped the receiver with a clang before turning to her tough and ready clients, many of whom had already reached for their weapons.

"Arm yourselves and assume defensive positions." Ellen barked. "We're going down fighting."


	6. The Inn

Verona Wilson didn't come from a normal family. With a grandmother who was a practising Wicca, a father who hunted vampires, a mother that spoke to dead people, a little sister that could predict the future, and a big brother that could make pencils float across the room, she always thought she was an incredibly dull girl when she wasn't able to do anything special.

And then as the family grew older, her grandma had a heart attack from prancing around the alter, her dad was ripped apart, her mother committed to an asylum, her sister threw herself off a cliff and her brother vanished completely. His body was found much later in a deserted town called Cold Oak, completely mangled. She found that being normal had its advantages. So for a while, she went about being normal.

Until Luthor Richards found her. Luthor was perhaps ten years older than her, with shoulder-length faded blonde hair and a bushy moustache. He was nice and polite, but cross him and he could tear your head off. He was a good man.

And that good man was about to die. And he knew it.

"Hold fast." He shouted as guns were cocked and fingers tightened on triggers. "On my mark, not before then. That means you, Luke. Mark, Laurie, keep those salt lines fresh. Chris, Jordan, Sarah, tell me if there's any change in formation."

It was good to have someone in charge. Good to have someone to give the orders instead of making your own call. Luthor turned back. "I'm sorry for getting you into this, girls." He said. "I'd get you out if you could."

"It's too late to be thinking about that now." Said the other woman. "We're here and we can help." The light glinted off her glasses as she narrowed her eyes.

"Your family has a reputation as one of the best. I don't doubt that. But you've been a civilian too long. That means you're out of practise. And it's _not _a good idea to jump back after so long out of it."He said firmly.

Grace Devlin's cheeks reddened slightly. This was a woman who didn't like being told what to do, especially by someone she used to tutor in maths. "Well, tough." She spluttered. "We're more use out there then in here following you around like a couple of dogs."

"Luthor, they're backing off!" Reilly Smith called out.

Luthor stood up straight as if an electric current had just shot up his spine. "With me." He ordered the four men closest to the door. Grace bent to pick up a shotgun from the pool table. "And what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Getting back _in _to it." Grace snapped back.

"You're _crazy." _

Reilly was right. They were backing off. Grace took care not to disturb the salt line as she stood by Luthor's side just outside the inn.

"Aim." He said coldly. "Fire at-"

"Parley!" Said a man in the front line, stepping forward and dropping to his knees, showing that he wasn't armed. Pieces of his face seemed to be missing, but he grew them back as they watched.

"Shape Shifter." Grace whispered. 

"_Excuse me_?" Luthor spluttered, like he'd never heard anything so outrageous before.

"Parley!" The Shape Shifter said again. "Truce! White flag!"

The hunters just stared, frozen.

"You _what_?"

"Ignorant humans…" A small goblin-like creature with small wings tucked away behind its back shook its ugly head. "We want to make a deal with you, you idiots."

* * *

"Get Ellen on the phone." Luthor fished a battered mobile from his pocket and handed it to Grace. Grace browsed his address book until she got down to _Ellen Harvelle. _

"And they wonder why I gave it up." She muttered.

"Elrking." Luthor said coldly to the goblin creature that had spoken. "You're a long way from home, aren't you?"

"We are found everywhere, hunter. It only depends on how hard you are willing to look." For a creature that resembled a dried prune, his grasp of the English language was remarkable.

"Of course. I believe you, Elrking." Luthor managed to ladle those words with as much cold contempt as he was able.

"Could you stop calling me Erlking?" The creature said exasperatedly. "My name… my name is Lazarus."

"_It has a name._" One of the other hunters whispered.

"Of course I have a name!" Lazarus snapped. "I am Lazarus de Colardo."

"You're Spanish?" Verona guessed.

"Whatever I want to be, dear child." He bowed his head to her.

"Verona, get inside." Luthor ordered.

"I'm not going to do anything to her!"

"I know what your kind does!"

"Why the hell would I want to eat her, you stodgy bastard?" Lazarus the Elrking snapped.

Verona didn't move. More and more hunters crept out of the Inn, weapons still raised.

"Especially with all the preservatives and garbage young people shovel down their throats these days?"

Grace handed Luthor back his phone. He held it to his ear while not taking his eyes from the small band of creatures, who looked no less intimidating now they had stopped milling about his Inn. "You there?"

"_Nowhere else to be._" Ellen's voice was tired and tinny over the small receiver.

"Are you still alright?"

"_Yeah. No one has made a move yet. They're just out there, staring at us. Luthor, some crazy shit is going down._"

"You're telling me." Luthor replied. "I got an Erlking out here. Says he wants to make a deal with us."

"_Bullshit._"

"Tell your kids to hold their fire for a bit. Care to sit in for a while?"

"_Darling, I wouldn't be anywhere else._"

He switched the phone to loudspeaker and handed it back to Grace. "Sorry about that, er, Lazarus. This is how we do a conference all the way out here."

Lazarus snorted. "As I was saying. Us, the small and disadvantaged creatures of this fair land have decided to make a deal with you."

"Have you? How very kind."

The Erlking snarled at him, showing rows of pointed teeth. "Not by choice we have come to this conclusion, but necessity. And as soon as the agreed upon time has passed, it will be business as usual."

"I see. Perhaps you'd care to enlighten us on the situation that has lead you to this massive conclusion, then."

The creature blinked at him in disbelief. "_You don't know_?" He asked incredulously. "How could you not know when they are killing you one by one? Isn't there one among you that is aware of what is happening?"

"I believe so." Ellen's voice piped up from the speaker. "But the one that really knows what's going on isn't among us. We… we don't know where he is." Luthor blinked at Ellen's revelation.

"Then you are true fools to loose your champion." Lazarus said gruffly. "There is evil awake in this land, and the demon clans have been gathered. The mouth of Hell has been opened and its guardians are walking among the mortals of this dimension. Those sentenced to eternal damnation are selling their souls in return to cease feeling pain."

"What do you want us to do?" Grace asked.

"You are the Devil we know, so to speak. These demons have placed manacles on us and we are no longer able to do completely as we will. And as soon as you are all dead, the culling will begin. Each Underdemon that has worn out his or her usefulness will be slaughtered. There will be none of us left."

"Jeez, you really didn't come to this decision lightly." Luthor fought to keep the surprise from his face. This Lazarus seemed sincere, and none of the other creatures had made a play for his people yet, even the group up the back that might have been vampires.

Lazarus stretched up to his full height, which was about to Luthor's waist. "You need us, hunters. _We _know how to approach the demons without arousing suspicion. _We _can fight for hours without falling in battle. _Make _our strengths yours."

Luthor looked doubtful. Grace glanced at him and spoke up on his behalf. "The other hunters must be given this offer. We can't decide for all those right across the country."

"Then call a Council." Lazarus said. "You still have Councils, don't you?"

He was met with stony silence. He shook his head. "The ways of the Slayers have truly died. Gather whoever will come and the representatives of each of the Underdemons will meet them on a placed of your choosing. Name your meeting place."

"Luthor, come here a minute." Ellen instructed. He switched the phone back to the handset setting.

"You catch all that?"

"_Yeah. Sound like they're stuck between a rock and a hard place."_ She replied.

"Any good ideas for a meeting place? Hundreds of hunters and creatures strolling into the one town might look a little conspicuous."

_"Hold on a minute."_ There was the sound of the receiver passing hands. _"Luthor, this is Bobby Singer." _Said a gruff male's voice.

"Bobby, what's up?"

_"Do you remember the Oak? It's where we found all those bodies a few years back."_

"I remember." Though he'd much rather forget. "What about it?"

_"Well, no one in their right minds would go there. We'd have privacy. Time to set up."_

"It's haunted."

_"Come on, are you telling me you can't deal with a little ole haunting?"_

Luthor smiled. "Great idea, man." He turned to Lazarus. The little creature was starting to get skittish looking down all those gun nozzles.

"Give us a month. And meet us at Cold Oak, South Dakota."

The little goblin bowed low to him, and then was gone. All the hunters watched, bemused, as the others slunk off into the night.


	7. Back to Cold Oak

Cold Oak, South Dakota. It sent chills down Bobby's spine each time he went near the place. Each time that damned bell in the square rung, sure enough that meant someone was gonna die.

They were all there. Him, Ellen and Jo. Behind them came Deacon and Conrad followed by Carmen and Gabriel. They found a place that might have once been the town hall, and went about blessing and casting and drawing. They made sure that nothing on _or under _God's green earth could approach them without them knowing.

"D'you think others will come?" Jo finally asked the question that had been burning in everybody's heads.

"Can't know for sure." Bobby said. "Trust and integrity are dead arts. Some might come just out of the hope to watch us get our collective asses stomped."

She sighed. "Sam would know what to do." She said quietly.

"He'll find us. He always finds us." Ellen said. "That boy never misses a cue."

"It's getting cold." Deacon said plaintively. He wasn't whingeing; it was merely a statement of fact. "We better get ready for a long, miserable watch."

Deacon was right. Both about the 'long' and the 'miserable'. Early in the morning, Gabriel woke Bobby insisting he could hear engines outside. The two of them dragged open the rotting doors to behold a beat-up old red pickup truck and a sporty but dented Ford, closely followed by a green 1970's Impala Convertible.

"'Choo looking at?" Jo was awake. Kind of. And the three of them watched as others got out of the vehicles, stretched and looked around.

"Bobbo!" A tall man with a bushy blonde moustache waved at Bobby as he slammed the door of the truck.

"Luthor!"

Out of the Ford emerged two women, one with a painfully severe red ponytail and glasses, the other with dark hair and a mousy complexion. Jo recognised them both immediately. "Verona! Professor!"

And out of the Convertible climbed one more woman. Tall and imposing, she gave Carmen a run for her money in the vain department. She was about as old as Ellen, with dyed black hair and painted lips.

"Is she a hooker?" Jo asked her mother.

"For all I know." Ellen grumbled. "Ah, Megan."

_Ah ha. _Jo mentally exclaimed. _The Megan Locke that Mom's hated all her life and might still hate when she's dead. _

Megan looked at them through coyly lowed lashes. "Ellen. My, don't you look… old."

Ellen stiffened. "_Some _of us don't feel the need to be primped and perfect when we're hunting monsters."

"Obviously." She sniffed. Jo almost laughed at the expression on her mother's face, and knew that her Mom was inwardly hoping that Megan Locke would end up being eaten by the nearest demon. "And you must be darling little Josephine!"

"Er, Joanna, actually."

"Jo, Jo, they're both the same."

"So, Megan, I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Insatiable curiosity, you understand." Jo raised an eyebrow. She was beginning to see what her mother found irritating. Fighting monsters because of _insatiable curiosity? _

The rest of the week, she and Deacon would sit under the ancient windmill for several hours, playing '_What state am I from?'. _It was a dumb little game her father taught her when she was small, to keep her quiet. Each time a new hunter walked into the room, she had to deduce what state they originated from, basing her conclusion on accent and general observations. Say, a Texan would generally have a louder drawl and have a particular swagger. A Mexican would usually be smaller and darker and slimmer, and someone from Alabama would roll his words as he spoke. It taught you not to overlook the small details.

In hindsight, that little game was in effect the first step of her training.

In the lead up to the one-month deadline, more people than Jo expected were turning up. Grizzled old hands and young rookies that still had the training wheels on. A small-scale reunion was happening over near Ellen and Bobby, where the two of them were spotting faces they hadn't seen since they themselves were young.

And even through this, Jo kept one eye on the horizon. _Come on, Sam. _

At the end of almost a month, she did a quick head count. Jo mentally compiled a list. Luthor Richards was there for his Inn. There was Megan Locke from her hunter B&B, and Ellen from her LA pub.

Then there were the usual suspects of herself, Deacon, Gabriel, Carmen and Bobby. Followed by Conrad Jones and Verona Wilson, and Professor Devlin all the way from Stanford University (_had Jo beat why she was there in the first place)_.

Also, there were college buddies Mark Ford and Sarah Conner, the three Danner brothers, Jordan, James and Holden, five old friends of Bobby and Ellen's - Graham Black, Janine Goodman, Tyler Smith, Freddie Burke and Simon Manning, and a greying lone wolf that simply introduced himself as 'Hunter'.

_Obviously. _

All up there were twenty-two of them. Twenty-two of them to face the apocalyptic armies of hell. A thought that just made Jo feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She sat with her mother as she stared at her watch, watching the one-month deadline tick by.

"Hello." She jumped up, a hand reaching for her knife. A little creature was staring at her, his face squashed like someone had backed a car into him. It cocked its head at her.

"Hello." Jo said back cautiously.

"Don't worry." Ellen said. "That's Lazarus."

"You sure?"

"Not the type of voice you soon forget." Ellen made to step forward. Jo grabbed her arm.

"Mom, something's up." She hissed. "Look at its eyes."

Ellen peered into the creature's eyes. They were glazed and clouded over. She had not seen the Erlking in person, but something didn't sit right. "Where are the others?"

"You will see them soon." He said evasively, and that was when Ellen finally twigged.

"Jo, get back to the others." She said sharply. "It's been a trap the whole time."

The Erlking launched itself at her, teeth and claws bared. She shouted out as her forearm was slit. Jo came forward to help but was flung away with a glance from the creature.

Its eyes glowed.

"Foolish humans." It growled. "Weren't you even told that if the deal sounds too good to be true, it probably is?" It slashed toward Ellen's face again and she brought her fist up into its jaw, where something cracked.

"Do you really think the Mother would not know about this abomination?"

Jo picked herself up off the ground. Her lip was bleeding. "Mom…"

"We knew the moment the Underdemons proposed this arrangement among their people, and we were waiting for them to send their representatives to meet you. This exercise would truly show us how much we were to go up against, by gathering you all together."

_A demon is possessing a demon. Is that possible? _

Jo stumbled to her feet and wiped her chin. Back toward the City Hall she could hear the sounds of gunfire and battle cries. They had found the others.

_"Get off my Mom!"_

And suddenly the creature was stumbling and backing off, and collapsing. There was a hole the size of Jo's fist in it's back. As she watched, a cloud of black smoke rose and dissipated into the air with a parting hiss. "What the hell-?" She spun around.

"What have I missed?" Sam gave his slow smile, shotgun in hand. Jo grinned back and then punched his shoulder. "Ow! What was that for?"

"What the hell happened to you? You left us!"

"Long story." Sam's eyed strayed to Ellen and Jo noticed she was kneeling next to the Erlking, an unusual expression on her face. The Erlking was on his back, choking on dark blood, and whispering something to her.

"It was never meant to end this way." Lazarus said, then died.

"It was all a trap." Jo said dully.

"I thought it might have been. When I found out."

"And I didn't even think twice." Jo said bitterly. "I'm _so gullible._"

"No." Ellen said shortly. "Not gullible. Hopeful. Hoping that there might be other things out there besides darkness. That good might exist in equal measures alongside evil." She looked up, and her expression was angry. She pulled out a pistol from under her jumper. "Let's show these bastards what we can do."

Cold Oak, South Dakota. The place was death, and misery, and pain all wrapped up neatly into a little bundle. There were the sounds of a bell, the Cold Oak bell that used to ring each time someone passed away. Another example of demonic humour at it's finest.

The death of a creature that was almost on the same side of Ellen seemed to fuel her drive. What were these demons that could kill other beings, not just humans but beasts too, without a thought? She blew apart a small creature with her pistol.

"For Lazarus." She said softly. "For Bill. For me."

Jo and Sam were fighting beside her, but Ellen soon lost track of them in the mêlée. Her fury was building up to a point where it was about to explode out of her. _A demon wanted to make a deal with us. To fight with us. To be free. And they killed him. _

Sam could see the others now, backed behind a protective circle. He could hear the spatter of gunshots, and Bobby yelling at them to concentrate their fire. There were bodies on the ground, but he couldn't bring himself to look at them.

"Leave them alone!" He cried. "You're not after them!"

"Aren't I?"

Sam found himself once again on his back. _I'm making a habit of this._ He struggled to his knees as Lilith walked into the middle of the fray, her beauty and visage so _wrong, _so awfully, terribly _wrong. _

"Then who am I after, Sam?"

Sam gazed up at her defiantly. "Me."

"No." Jo whispered. "Sam!"

The Mother smiled. "Leave them." She commanded.

Around the square, bodies dropped, writhing in pain on the ground. One after the other, black clouds funnelled out of remains and rose up, standing tall. Sam stared as they assumed shape. Wings, claws, fangs, beaks, crushing jaws. He could see it all amidst the swirling blackness.

"You now see us as we truly are." Lilith said, and she was now tall and winged, with massive talons for hands. But still the same lovely face. "_We _are the things that stalk your visions. _We _are the ones that nightmares came from. And you _insult _me by assuming that I need you?"

"You would not have come after me if I was not some sort of threat to you." Sam said. "You're running _scared_. Your husband was too. Afraid that I might be able to turn away from my _destiny _and fight him, the boy that was his favourite. And in the end it wasn't me that killed him anyway; it was my idiot brother."

Lilith smiled. "I admire your bravery, hero. And like all tragic heroes, you will die for the greater good. _My _greater good." And she reached out those deadly talons for him. Sam did not flinch back but stared down his fate defiantly.

"Lilith!"

The claws stopped inches from his face.

"Ah, you survived." She said pleasantly. "You failed your task. This one is still alive."

"I thought I would let you do the honours." Dean said. He walked into the town centre. Lilith's demons growled at him but did not break formation. The bell was still ringing.

"Oh my God." Ellen whispered.

"Did I mention the bit where Dean's still alive?" Jo said lamely.

"No. You must have missed it."


	8. Dean's Plan

Dean and Lilith stared at each other, both daring the other to make the first move. "You still failed me. I have no use for those who fail me. And to think I had higher expectations for you."

"I let a lot of people down that way."

"Do as you are ordered or die."

"I have done what you have ordered long enough." Dean said. "Thankfully, I don't have to keep up this façade for too much longer."

"_Façade?"_ The Mother screeched.

"Pretence? Fake? Act? You bought my soul and my humanity, my emotions. But you forgot about my loyalty." _Protect Sam. _

The silent moment shattered with Dean raising a small silver knife and burying it in Lilith's chest. She screeched, and it was enough to make the hairs on the back of Sam's neck stand on end. The other demons screamed and broke formation, charging at the circle that could not cross.

"Watch the line!" The Professor screamed. "One break and they can get in!"

Sam found himself beside Jo once again. "Life's never… boring with you." She panted.

"You think so?" He swung her around so he could belt a creature grabbing for her.

"You know we're gonna die."

"Yeah. No regrets?"

"Is this confession?" She shot a four-legged being that was making a play for Sam. "At least we're doing what we're meant to do."

"Yeah." Sam glanced back up to Dean. Every move he made he knew off by heart, every way he attacked and defended. All the while never yielding to the demon that had given him a second life.

And in a flash, Sam understood Dean's deal. The demon had offered him what he needed in order to defeat her. True, he had sacrificed his emotions, pain and consciousness, but his unspoken order to protect Sam had become so embedded within his mind, so drilled into him time and time again then it was no more an emotion than a part of who he was.

_Dean, you idiot. _Dodge. Parry. Thrust. Slash. Lilith cut at him time and time again, but he did not cry out or pause in his attack. The demon had infused him with her own power, not thinking that he may find a loophole in her contract. But that's what Dean does. He'd always find ways to get out of work.

Sam could see flames and the smoke, and Lilith hacked away in frustration. The town bell shook off its pole and shattered.

"_You will not defeat me!_" She screamed. She slashed at the air and Dean fell like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Blood welled up in gashes that had not been there before, and Sam knew what Lilith had done.

She had given him back his vulnerability, his emotions and pain. Dean shouted out in pain and fury and frustration. "_Now die!_" Lilith bellowed.

"No!" Sam shouted, springing forward. A woman jumped forward and slammed him against the side of the church.

"Miss me, Sammy?" She asked.

"Who are you?"

"Think real hard and it'll come to you."

"Meg." He hissed.

"The one and only." She smiled.

"There's a place waiting for you downstairs, Sam. Fire and brimstone and burning and screaming. And you will be awake for every bit of it. You will watch them suffer for all eternity. Because of you."

His head hurt. _He kept hearing the screams, seeing the blood, listening to the skeletal slaves. 'You could have saved us. Why didn't you save us?' _

_'Why, Sam?' _

"Death is too good for someone like you. I will watch you beg for death and do _nothing. _I will tear your brother apart in front of you and each hunter that has stood at your side this day will _burn._"

_Death. Everywhere he goes. Everyone he touches. Death. He was death. _

"Burn with me, Sammy." Meg whispered.

Sam screwed his eyes shut, trying in vain to block out her voice. "Go _away!_" He shouted out. He opened his eyes as the pressure on his throat diminished.

Hunter and demon alike were staring at him, their eyes alive with horror, disgust and, in Jo Harvelle's case, a little pride. The demon that Sam knew as Meg was gone. Simply gone.

Lilith froze in her attack. "No." She threw her head back to the sky. "No!" She screamed, her great leathery wings unfurled behind her into the sky.

She looked at Sam. She looked right through him and it chilled him to the bone.

"You think you know what's to come. You have no idea. One day destiny will come knocking on your door and there'll be no way you can stop its onslaught. You have won the battle this day, but the war is far from over. I can play a long game; how long can you play?"

Her eyes were so full of hate. He could see them burn with a fire that threatened to consume. And although she had conceded that they had won, it scared him that there were other demons out there, as powerful as she, much more powerful than the Yellow-eyed one.

"You think this has been hard, Sam Winchester? War is coming, and not just from my corner. Look over your shoulder, and we'll always be there. Waiting."

And she was gone. Her demons evaporated as soon as their star player abandoned them, and everything was still once more except for the sound of old men swearing.

Sam's heart was beating so fast that he thought it might burst. Finally he managed to move stiffly back to the others. He reached forward to touch Jo's shoulder; to reassure himself that he was alive, that they had all made it. Jo patted his hand uncomfortably, looking down.

He had his back against a grave marker. "Hey, Sammich."

"Hey." His stomach was doing the kind of flops they did just before you heaved your lunch back up. "Are you gonna try and kill me again?"

"I've seen what you've done to my car. That's going to take weeks to fix." Dean said.

Sam grinned.

"Dude, if those are tears in your eyes, I swear I'm gonna pop you another one." He growled threateningly.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I just woke up the day after getting hammered at a Def Leppard concert. What have I missed here?"

"Oh, same old, same old."

He glanced around at all the faces, some old to him, some new. "Looks like you got everything happenin'."

"Ah, you know. End of the world and all that."

"Again?"

"You know, I never got to say this before, but I love you, man."

"Bite me. Bitch."

"Jerk."

* * *

The months dragged by as Sam's army recuperated and researched and trained at Ellen's. That was what Bobby had called them once, while he had been describing the series of events to Dean, and the moniker had stuck. 

Sam's Army.

Jo walked Sam to the Impala. "Are you going to stay in Minnesota?" He asked her.

Jo shrugged. "Dunno. Might stay put for a bit in LA. Help Mom with the pub. That's probably more dangerous than going on a solo hunt armed with a toothpick."

Sam smiled. Jo glanced at the Impala and back at him.

"I suppose this is it, then."

"What? What does that mean?"

"Well, you got Wonder Boy back at the helm, don't you?"

"Dean's never going to stop you from being my friend." Sam said. "My best friend. And it's not going to stop me from calling up every few weeks to make sure everything's alright. In the time we hunted together, you kept me sane and slapped me into line. You were there; even after all you knew I had done. I can't thank you enough for that."

"Aw, now you're making me blush."

"I mean it. You're amazing."

"Thank you, Sammy." Dean stepped up behind them and slapped Sam on the shoulder. He was still limping on his right leg and his wrist was splinted. "Are you cracking onto our Miss Harvelle? Careful, or Ellen might crack you."

"That's bad. Even for you."

"Hey, I gotta get back into the swing of it, right?" He said defensively. "That was the most serious I've been since my last English exam and it's kinda freaking me out. You see… I'm afraid I've lost my ability to joke."

Sam and Jo both laughed at that.

"And hey, who says it's your last hurrah? Sam?"

"What?"

He folded his arms. "Tell her. Tell her what you told me last night."

Sam's eyes widened. "You mean-?"

"No, the other thing, doofus."

"Oh, right. I got a call last night from a Mrs Gwendolyn Roberts. Apparently something has been recently appearing at her daughter's window and scratching on the pane. Scaring the kid half to death."

"What do you say?" Dean asked. "Want to come with?"

"What happened to '_we can't take her, she's a little girl and will only slow us down and get us into even more trouble'_?" Jo asked.

"Well, the way I figure, you stayed with Sam close-quarters and saved his butt for what? A year now? Plus, points for stopping him from crashing my girl." He ran his hand down the hood of the Impala. Sam pulled a face.

"Well, my mother always told me not to get into cars with strange men."

"You can't get much stranger."

"Heck, why not?"

_**'I've got books that say the good man's golden **_

_**And more that say the bad will fall. **_

_**So many men have drowned in evil, **_

_**And left Lucifer standing tall. **_

_**Don't take the devil's dare **_

_**Don't gamble when the game ain't fair.' **_

The bar was slowly winding down for the day. Ellen Harvelle was standing behind the counter slowly wiping a glass, thinking of her daughter running off with the Winchester boys yet again. Nothing was ever going to be the way it used to.

She was about to close the front to the public when an impeccably groomed man in a dark suit with a neat beard stepped into the building, grimacing as he beheld the ancient fixtures. Ellen could tell by the way he held himself that he was either a cop or a fed.

She turned away as he made a beeline for her. "Ellen Harvelle? Mrs Harvelle?" He asked crisply.

"Maybe." She replied, putting away the glasses. "Depends on who wants to know."

He flipped out a badge. FBI. "I am Agent Victor Hendrickson, ma'am, and we have reason to believe that you may know the whereabouts of two cold case felons."

"Mister Hendrickson, most of the people I serve are felons. Come back happy hour and see for yourself."

"Do the names Sam and Dean Winchester mean anything to you?"

"Can't say that they do."

"Really." He slapped an A4 folder down onto the counter. "This was mailed through my door last week. Take a look. It might interest you."

Inside there was a single photo. The bar was in the background, the name _Harvelle's _clearly seen above the heads of the subjects. She also saw the two men, one dark haired and shaggy, the other one tired and bandaged.

"Do you know what this means?" He hissed.

"You boys aren't as good as you thought you were?"

He snapped the folder shut. "This isn't over, Mrs Harvelle." He said.

"It is for you. Mister Hendrickson." There was a note of dismissal in her voice that even Hendrickson couldn't ignore.

"_Agent _Hendrickson." He said. "Tell them from me that they ruined my life. My career. And this time I _will _catch them and lock them away in a place where they wont see the light of day. Just in case you don't see them again."

"I wont." Ellen said. "Now leave. You lot aren't good for business. Scares away the customers."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

The lyrics to 'The Devil Game' belong to Kansas and anyone else associated with them.

I don't own anything Supernatural, including the Impala, Sam, Jo, Dean, Bobby, and Ellen.

I do own Deacon, Carmen, Gabriel, and any other original concept I might have mentioned, such as Luthor's Inn and Megan's B&B.

An **Erlking** is a malevolent German goblin that is supposed to haunt forests and lures people, but especially children, away to their doom.

**Lilith** is thought of as a night demon and shadow monster. She has supposedly existed for centuries under several different guises.

This story will all become AU, brought about by the idea of what would happen if Sam wasn't able to save Dean at the end of one year (though we all know he probably will). Set seven years in the future, something is coming out with a want for Winchester blood. Sam's even more angsty than before, Dean is evil, and a hapless Jo is stuck in the middle.

Thanks to all that reviewed this story and the previous ones, and all that read without reviewing. There may be sequels, don't know yet.


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